


Boo

by winter_storm



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Ghost England, Human America (Hetalia), Human Names Used, M/M, More characters to be added, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2017-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5193119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_storm/pseuds/winter_storm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur had long ago gotten used to being alone. He thought that was just the way it would always be for him. He thought he was perfectly content on his own. How ever when a loud American moves in Arthur is shown all he might be missing by staying alone. There is only one problem; Arthur is dead.</p><p>And Alfred is terrified of ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arthur Goes Bump in the Night

Chapter one: Arthur Goes Bump in the Night

Arthur was rather used to it by now or at least that was what he told himself. It wasn’t anything new really. Even when he was alive he hadn’t really been the most social of people so it hadn’t been that different when he died. He didn’t even really regret being dead most of the time. In his opinion life had been a very messy affair so in retrospect this was better. There were of course some draw backs, but that was to be expected of course. 

The one thing Arthur was never able to figure out was why he was still here. What he had heard was that ghosts were tied to the world of the living when they had unfinished business. It made sense in theory, but Arthur didn’t have any unfinished business. He didn’t have any business period really. He had only been about twenty-five when he died. He had forgotten exactly how old he was. Time didn’t hold much meaning for him anymore. It was also confusing not sure if he should say how old he was when he died or how old he was plus the years after his death. 

Of course Arthur didn’t really have to worry about small talk anymore. He didn’t have to worry about talking at all. One of the biggest drawbacks of being a ghost was that no one seemed able to see him at all. It was down right tiresome to be looked through all the time. It wasn’t even as if he wanted some grand life after all how can you live life to the fullest if you are already dead? Still even to the most secluded person 100 years with no human contact was bound to be disheartening. 

Arthur had gotten used to being alone. He had held out hope for the first ten or twenty years that someone would see him eventually. After that it started to get harder and harder to believe that someone someday would see him. He had learned to entertain himself though. If he concentrated, he could interact with small things like books. He was unbelievably relieved that he had acquired a large library before his death. He could spend years just sitting in that library reading. He did in fact and though it didn’t take as long as he would have liked he eventually worked his way through every single book. He would have done it much sooner if the owners of the house hadn’t insisted on putting the books back when he was in the middle of them. It wasn’t like he could really fuss at them for it though after all it wasn’t like they knew he was there.

Arthur had to admit that he loved technology. He loved books of course, but there were only so many times he could read the same book before it got old. How ever it seemed there was always something interesting on TV if he got tiered of reading. There hadn’t been anything like TV when he was alive. He was fascinated with how it worked. He tried to go and see how they were made at a TV manufacturing company, but it turned out there was only so far from the house he could venture. He had figured as much, but he was hopeful when he had actually managed to leave the property without any problems. How ever if he went too far there was the oddest sensation of being dragged back to the house very fast. Despite his inability to figure out how to device worked Arthur still loved watching the shows. He found that like books he could actually interact with the nobs and later the remote for the TV and change the channels. Over time there got to be more and more channels. The way technology moved forward was simple astounding to Arthur.

After movies and television, the next big advancement in technology was computers. This was one thing Arthur couldn’t quite understand. He could see the appeal he supposed, but since he couldn’t seem to interact with the device he had never liked it much. He would have loved it if he could manipulate it and look at whatever he wanted on the machine, but as it was he was stuck looking at whatever the current user was and more often than not that was just boring. 

So Arthur amused himself by re-reading the books in the library and watching television most of the time. He was content for the most part. He was entertained enough with his books and television, but never having to take a break to eat or sleep he did find himself getting a little tiered of his day in and day out life, or after life as the case was. There were still moments late at night that he would find himself hoping someone would see him. He could tell himself he was content as often as he liked, but deep down Arthur knew he still craved human interaction. 

It wasn’t very long before he started to test his boundaries again, but he never seemed to get any father until one day the current residents moved out and were replaced by a very kind old widow. He had never bothered to try and venture out with his former residence. The children had only gone to school and their parents to their respective jobs. Neither of those options had been favorable outings to Arthur so he never bothered to try either going to school or work with any of the houses former tenants. How ever when he heard about a concert that his current tenant planned to attend he couldn’t help but try. Arthur could not have expressed how delighted he was to discover that he was actually able to leave his little bubble of existence. At first he thought maybe he would finally be allowed to wander freely, but after several failed attempts he discovered that it was that he had left with the old lady. It seemed he could go wherever he liked if the house’s current owner was with him. It was not as much freedom as he would have liked, but it did give him the change of pace that he desperately needed.

He eventually found himself growing rather fond of the old lady. She couldn’t see him of course, but she seemed smarter than everyone else who had inherited the house. She seemed acutely aware of how things moved around and that the books she put back were the very same one’s that kept being removed from the shelves and that no matter how sure she was that she had turned the television off when she came back it would be on BBC America showing old episodes of Doctor Who. No one else had seemed to notice that these events were connected or the pattern to them. It got to the point though that the old woman and him had a sort of understanding. She wouldn’t put the books in the library away if it looked like he was still working on them, and she would try to remember to change the television to BBC America for him when she left the room for a significant amount of time. This saved Arthur a lot of trouble and he in return would make sure that the garden was well tended and the house didn’t get too dirty. He still wished for something more, but it was nice for someone to at least realize that he was there even if they couldn’t communicate in the most conventional way. 

Eventually as with all the other previous tenants the old woman left. After about fifteen years in the house her heath began to decline at a fast pace. Arthur knew that her time was short. He was sad to see her leave, but he knew that she would be better where there were people who would know how best to care for her. He would have been willing to look after her himself if he were able to do more, but despite years of practice there was still very little he could do in the physical world. Upon her departure the old woman left Arthur one final gift. She made the people in charge of the house promise that whatever else was to happen that the library be left alone. 

The television and his companion left but the library which had always been his even in life remained. The comfortable green wing backed chairs, the floor to ceiling book shelves, the first editions gathered over generations, even the little oddments dotting the few blank spaces remained. The rest of the house was deserted, but this room remained. When he thought about it he couldn’t help but wonder how despite all the people who had come and gone over the years this room was very much as it had been when he lived in the house. So now he was alone. He still had his books his own little corner of the house where he could lose himself in his favorite books the ones that could take him to all the placed he had would never get the chance to visit.

He stayed like that static and unmoving for many years. He couldn’t tell you how long exactly. It was hard to keep track of time when nothing ever changes. After a long time where nothing changes even the slightest difference is easy to notice. For a moment Arthur started out the window. For a moment he couldn’t put his finger on what it was that was so different but then like a ton of bricks it hit him. The sign that had been sitting in the yard for as long as the house had been vacant had a large red SOLD across the front. His house was sold. There would be people in the house again. There would be television and the internet and best of all people. 

Arthur spent most of the next week thinking about the houses new owner. Maybe it would be the sort of person who help a lot of parties and went out all the time. He liked that idea he felt les invisible with a lot of people around and thanks to his discovered with the old widow he knew if the owner went out so could he. In the grand scheme of things however Arthur found he didn’t care much what the new owner was like as long as he wouldn’t be alone anymore. 

It took two more weeks for the new owner to arrive. He came with very little, but Arthur assumed it would take some time for all of his stuff to arrive anyway. He watched face pressed against the glass of the window. It was just a boy. He couldn’t have been more than 20. Well that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing just surprising. He watched from the library window. The boy had wind blown wheat blonde hair with a suborn cowlick right at the front. He wore blue jeans and a tee shirt with a big graphic of the American flag covered by a brown bomber jacket he had added an odd assortment of patches to. Arthur was skeptical of this boy. He was clearly American and though he hadn’t met any American’s himself from what he heard they were loud and obnoxious. Still he should at least try to be welcoming.

Arthur stood at the foot of the stairs looking at the front door. He waited patiently as he heard the key scrape against the lock and heard the heavy tumblers slowly click into place as if the objected to being moved after so long. He watched as the door opened slowly his heavy eyebrow knit together. He didn’t bother trying to look pleasant after all he was invisible. He blonde came in carrying a large box blocking his view. He kicked the door closed behind him. “Home sweet home.” He muttered as he dropped the box. As his sky blue eyes met big green ones his chin basically hit the floor. “Holy Shit a squatter!” He exclaimed looking right at Arthur. Arthur turned to see if there was someone behind him only to see nothing but the empty staircase. At the realization that no one else was there Arthur could only make one conclusion. BLOODY HELL HE CAN SEE ME!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a clear idea of where this is going, but I would appreciate any ideas of what you might like to see included in this fan fiction. I hope you enjoy this little Halloween inspired plot bunny of mine.  
> On a side note I don't have a beta-reader for anything I write, but I would really appreciate if anyone is interested in doing that for me.
> 
> Winter_Storm


	2. Arthur The Squatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you get exactly what you wanted . . . with a few strings attached.

**Chapter Two: Arthur The Squatter**

 

     He bolted. He knew it was sort of childish and he probably should have just stayed and informed the American of exactly how things were, but it had been so long. True that the old lady had known he was around, but this was something completely different. This teenager could see him plain as day. Arthur had always hoped that someone would see him eventually, but he had given up that hope such a very long time ago. What should he do now though? He would have to leave. He couldn’t very well stay in the house drifting from day to day the way he always had before with this new tenant. He couldn’t leave though. He was physically unable to leave on his own. If he could leave he would have done so a long time ago.

 

     Arthur found himself dashing right through the library door. He usually liked to open the doors as if he were still alive but he was so upset he didn’t care one bit about opening the door and instead just phased through it. He did manage to flip the bolt to keep the American out though. The last thing he wanted to do was explain to the boy what had just happened. There were going to be plenty of question before they even got around to the whole point of him being a ghost tied to the house.

 

     The first thing Arthur did when he got to the library was look up the word squatter. He hadn’t heard it before and had no idea what the idiot American had meant when he said it, but if Arthur was meant to be one he would like to know exactly what it was. Arthur had gone as far as to unlock the door to inform the boy that he was in no way a squatter and the house belonged much more to Arthur when it really came down it before he rethought that and slid the bolt back into place. This just might work to his advantage.

 

     After all he wouldn’t hold it against the boy if he left after finding his new home haunted, but a squatter, he could work with that assumption. He didn’t like the term, but he would need time to think of a better excuse. However, in the meantime at least he didn’t have to explain that he was a ghost. Did he even want to share the house with this boy though? Cohabitation wasn’t easy under the best of circumstances. All he knew about his new tenant was that he was a young attractive American boy who was slightly idiotic and far too loud for comfort. Arthur didn’t relish the idea, but it was better than any other options he could come up with.

 

            He staying locked in the library for a long time figuring out his backstory. The American seemed reluctant to disturb him though he had tried the handle of the library door a few times. He heard the new arrival banging around in the rest of the house though. It made sense the boy probably had plenty to unpack. He should really figure out his name he needed something to call him if they were going to live together. Well introductions would surely come when they formally met. He thought it a bit rude for the boy to have not introduced himself at the start. Arthur had conveniently forgotten he hadn’t given the boy a chance since he ran as fast as he could go and locked himself in the library.

 

     It was the only locked room in the house so he had to be in there. It had been a long time, but Alfred had plenty of other things to do till he was ready. For a while Alfred thought that the squatter had left. It wasn’t till he found the locked door that he realized his house guest was still in residence. It was odd really. The house didn’t look lived in at all. Alfred actually felt kind of bad for the guy living like this. There was nothing else for it the squatter would stay. Alfred was a hero and a hero would never turn away someone in need, even it they were trespassing.

 

     Alfred knocked hard on the door. Like everything else the American’s knock was unnecessarily loud. “Dude? You ok squatter dude? Look I’m not gonna throw you out I just want to make sure you aren’t dead or anything.” Just like the knock the voice was far louder than was really required and it grated on Arthur’s nerves a bit. After so many years of near silence though Arthur felt he could deal with a bit of noise. Arthur stood on the other side of the door for a moment. The irony of the boy’s comment about being dead not lost on him. If he only knew. For a moment he was going to just leave the door locked and hole up in the library till the young man moved out, but that was ridiculous. Eventually he slowly turned the lock the heavy bolts clicking into place leaving the door accessible if not welcoming.

 

     It was now up to the boy if he would enter or not. Alfred never one to back down from anything no matter how odd it may seem to others wasted no time flinging the door wide to actually get his first good look at his house companion. “Hey I’m Alfred F. Jones! The F. stands for freedom. My parents were kind of liberal.” He said holding out his hand. He sounded almost too cheerful to be real. His accent was . . . southwestern maybe? It was hard to pin down since there wasn’t much to go on other than a very slight twang on certain words.

 

     Arthur looked at the hand. Nope he was not about to shake it. He couldn’t shake it of course, but he wasn’t sure he would want to shake it even if he had been able to. He took a step back from the boy, Alfred apparently, and cleared his throat. It had been a VERY long time since he even tried to talk to anyone. He wondered if he even could. Alfred could see him sure but that didn’t mean that he could hear him after all. “I’m Arthur Kirkland.” He heard himself. His voice was a little rough and scratchy from disuse, but it at least seemed to still work.

 

     After a long time standing with his hand out waiting for Arthur to take it Alfred finally got the idea that the Brit had no intention of shaking his hand. He supposed he was just a hesitant kind of person. Alfred had never had any kind of reservations even when he should so it didn’t make a lot of sense to him, but to each their own after all not everyone was a people person.

 

     Alfred wanting to break the odd silence that stretched between the two men finally tore his eyes away from the bright green orbs that stared at him from the face of the other blonde. He finally noticed the room that surrounded them. Alfred wasn’t the most observant of people, but even he couldn’t miss the difference between this room and the rest of the house. The big green wing backed chairs, the perfectly neat stacks of papers, and well work books open on almost every available surface. The rest of the house looked deserted, but the library looked just as it always had. This was him home and it showed. “This place is amazing.” Alfred said now seeming kind of reluctant to stop his perusal of the room now that he had started.

 

     Alfred walked around the room flipping a few pages in all the books, picking up a few of the nick knacks, spinning the big old fashioned globe, and finally lounging in one of the large wing backed chairs. Arthur watched the young mans perusal of the room. He didn’t like the way the boy had to touch everything. He had to bite his tongue and remind himself that since the boy had paid for the house everything in it now belonged to him. In a way Arthur supposed that meant he also belonged to the young American. That was a vey disturbing thought to the older Brit. He didn’t like the idea of belonging to anyone, but especially not to this loud obnoxious boy. Arthur fixed the boy with a glare as he flopped ungraciously into his own favored wing backed chair. “What do you want?” He said as the silence stretched between them green eyes meeting blue.

 

     Alfred laughed. His laugh was also too loud. Could the American do anything quietly? Probably not. He finally stopped laughing when he saw that Arthur was only glaring at him harder than before. “Chill squatter dude I just thought it was funny that you should be so hostile after all it’s my house I should be asking what you want.” He said with another laugh. He shrugged when the other man didn’t seem to share his amusement. “Look I just wanted to get to know you a little. I don’t necessarily want a free loader in my house, but the place really is too big for just me. My brother was supposed to come over and share the house with me but he got a great job offer unfortunately it meant that he had to stay in Canada. Lucky for you I’m a hero which mean I’m not going to toss you out onto the street. Since I’m in the market for a roomie anyway what do you say Artie want to be my new roomie?” It was all said in that same softly accented too cheerful voice that Arthur already knew he would hear too much of in the coming months if not years, but he was stuck to the house anyway so why not take the offer.

 

      He circled the boy in his chair. It seemed this boy was completely useless when it came to reading the mood. He was unflappable and that irked the ghost more than he wanted to admit. He came to stand right in front of the boy again who was still looking at him expectantly for an answer. “The library stays just as it is you are not to move a single object from it’s place in this room. Any house guests need to be approved by me first. If I say no to something do not continue to pester me about it. Lastly my name is Arthur, not Art, not Artie, not dude, Arthur and that is the only thing you are going to call me if you actually want me to answer is that understood Alfred?” It seemed like the American had finally picked up on some of hostility since he nodded and stayed silent after Arthur’s instructions.

 

     Alfred looked into the bright green eyes. He didn’t want to say anything and incur the man’s wrath. If this was Arthur in a good mood, he didn’t not want to see Arthur angry. Actually as long as it wasn’t directed at him Arthur would probably be really interesting to see angry his face all red and those huge eyebrows drawn together, yeah he would like to see Arthur angry as long as he wasn’t the target. Finally, unable to just sit there any longer. “So that’s a yes right? You’re gonna stay and be my roomie aren’t you?” He said. He looked like a puppy waiting to find out if his master approved of what he had done. It was slightly annoying but also endearing to a degree.

 

     The Brit sighed. What was he going to do with this boy? Well he supposed anything was better than being alone. “Yes Alfred I’ll be your ... roomie but I fully expect to have my own bed room there are more than enough of them so there is no reason to actually share a room.” He said stalking out of the library. Maybe the boy had hooked up a television and he could watch Doctor Who again.

 

      Alfred watched Arthur leave. It was kind of funny how he carried himself and spoke. It was like he was some kind of old timey gentleman instead of a squatter. He acted like he had every right to be there and it was Alfred that needed permission to stay. It was kind of cute actually. He was just getting up from his chair when he heard the commotion form the living room down the hall. “What the bloody hell? What kind of uncultured imbecile are you!? You have 7 channels for nothing but sport but you don’t get BBC!” On second thought maybe it wasn’t that cute.

 

     Alfred sighed and went to show the Brit how to get BBC America. He was actually astonished the man had even figured out how to turn on his home theater system in the first place. “Arthur the squatter needs to chill out and rejoin the land of the living.” Alfred muttered as he walked to the living room.

 

     Alfred was not at all surprised and and angry reply of “I heard that you twat” floated back to him. “You should know I’m not a squatter I’m the care taker!” His tone made it clear that despite Alfred never having heard of the house having a care taker that is what Arthur must be.

 

     “Score no house work!” The American said loudly as he entered the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a lot more response on this than I thought I would so that inspired me to get the next chapter up. I love the kudos of course but I would appreciate comments even more. This again is not beta read so I'm pretty sure there are some spelling and grammatical mistakes if you take the time to point them out I will do my best to fix them. If anyone would be interested in beta reading this please do let me know. Hope you all enjoy this as much as the first chapter  
> Winter_storm


	3. Getting To Know You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is thrilled to be seen and heard by Alfred, but he still invisible to most. He doesn’t want to scare the boy off but how long can he pretend he is human anyway?

Chapter Three: Getting to Know You

 

It was surprising how easily Arthur fell into the role of care taker. It was true that it was not as easy as it could have been, but it wasn’t too hard either. All he had to do was make sure that nothing went wrong. He could do the simple tasks like clean and garden since they didn’t involve lifting anything heavier than a broom. The trouble he knew would come when something he should be able to fix broke. If a pipe was leaking, or the dishwasher broke, or a door came off it’s hinges then he would be done for. He couldn’t fix any of those things when his hand would pass right through a wrench if he tried to pick it up. Despite his fear though he was able to enjoy his short reprieve from being dead and revel in the idea that for a little while at least he could act like a normal person; a live person.

Arthur took a lot of precautions concerning Alfred. It took him all of three days to realize that his minor conditions of living with the American would have to come with some more specific house rules. It wasn’t that the boy was such a bad house companion, actually compared to a lot of his prior house mates Alfred was top notch. There were still a few things though. The boy had a tendency to touch EVERYTHING! Nothing stayed in the same place for more than a day or two. He was always moving things around as if he couldn’t make up his mind about the best place for things. Arthur wouldn’t have cared if everything didn’t include him. He spent almost as much time ducking the enthusiastic boys hugs as dusting the house from basement to attic. Alfred had to give up eventually right? That was what Arthur hoped at least after all the American was fast and strong if he didn’t give up sooner or later Alfred would actually catch him and that would only end badly. In the mean time Arthur would just have to keep his guard up. 

True to his word despite touching everything else quite frequently Alfred kept the library in pristine condition. He didn’t even spend much time in there. That suited Arthur fine though sometimes he thought he might enjoy the company. The desire for company was often short lived. He would sometimes find himself getting up to go look for the boy and then he would hear the boy yell or curse from the other side of the house. This always resulted in him deciding that maybe he didn’t want the company that much. It was still nice to have the option of not being alone. 

To no one’s surprise more than his own Arthur found he actually enjoyed the house work. He had been a very tidy person in life and since he was not actually able to track dirt and dust around in death or move anything terribly heavy he was not surprised to find that he was even more tidy after death. Alfred he found was an entirely different story. Most of the house wasn’t too bad, but his bedroom looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Arthur had no idea what he did in there that resulted in cloths and games and comics strewn all over the place, but that was one room he had no intention of cleaning and had rightly informed Alfred of this after his first look at the disaster. Alfred had just laughed at his horrified expression and said he didn’t expect a cleaning service to come with the house and that he liked his room that way. Arthur couldn’t imagine how he even lived in the chaos, but as long as he didn’t have to fix it he supposed it wasn’t really any of his business. Just like the desire for companionship he sometimes got the urge to enter Alfred’s room and tidy it up a bit but every time he opened the door the task just seemed more daunting immediately dashing the sudden urge. The job was just so large that he wouldn’t even know where to start even if the urge hadn’t left him. 

Most days Alfred was out at school or working. He took a few classes working towards finishing his degree in engineering. It seemed the boy was something of a wiz when it came to math and science. His grammar was atrocious and his vocabulary could use some work, but what had Arthur really expected after all he was American. When he wasn’t busy with classes he actually worked at a garage repairing old vintage cars. Back in America that had been more of a hobby than an actual job, but according to Alfred he had been thrilled to realize that here he could make enough money doing that to get by just fine. 

Arthur couldn’t say he wasn’t pleased with the realization of what the boy did for money. He had been fascinated with cars and did his best to fallow their history ever since they had been invented. They were technically after his time but just like the computer and TV the way they worked fascinated him. He wished he could learn more about them, but such big machines were beyond his ability to examine. To his delight it seemed that the boy had a tendency to bring his work home with him and Arthur found himself spending a good bit of time sitting on a work bench in the garage. (It had been added to the house when cars became popular in the 1900s.) He would peer at the machinery from his perch on the bench flipping through whatever information Alfred had brought home to help with that specific car. He wished to get down from his bench and play with the machine seeing what all the little parts and tools did. He often found himself sitting on his hands to keep from trying. It was so disappointing to have something he loved so much there in front of him to explore without the ability to do anything about it.

Despite his general dislike of spending too much time around the loud young man he couldn’t help it when Alfred was working in the garage. The wheat blonde hair and bright blue eyes bent over the hood of a car in grease smeared coveralls had quickly become one of Arthur’s favorite things to look at. Alfred cut quite the figure all disheveled like that and Arthur despite his own protestations at admitting it was a little too aware of how attractive he was. As much as he enjoyed watching Alfred he also liked to see the engine take shape under his care. Arthur always had to sit on his hands to keep Alfred from seeing the way they itched to try out the machine himself. Even if he could have worked the wheel and pedals, he had never actually driven a car and was sure the boy wouldn’t appreciate one of the priceless old cars being driven into a tree by a ghost out for a joy ride.

As much as Arthur told himself that he perched on the work bench while the boy was in the garage so he could learn more about the cars he knew it wasn’t entirely true. Alfred could be obnoxious, was unable to keep his hands to himself, used the word dude far too often, and was entirely too loud ALL the bloody time, but regardless Arthur actually liked spending time with him. He seemed a bit more subdued when he was working on something. It was as if his energy was contained enough that it didn’t shoot out in every direction the way it sometimes seemed to. He was still loud and tried to hug Arthur at the most ridiculous moments, but at least he was focused enough to stop trying so hard. It seemed as if whenever they were in the same room Alfred got nervous and started to ramble about things like the weather and his pets. (Which there were far too many of though apparently none were able to make the trip over the pond.) Arthur would have been more than happy to just sit in silence, but not Alfred he chuckled once asking if the boy was allergic to silence. Alfred had rubbed the back of his neck a bit nervous and just left with his plate of pizza. It was different when he was working on cars though. He seemed so focused on the task that he couldn’t bother to get overly nervous about Arthur being there.

It had started out when Arthur had a question about the car he was working on. A slight clearing of his throat to get Alfred’s attention and a polite and intelligent question nothing more. As time went on it turned into so much more though. At first they had talked about nothing, but cars. Arthur learned a lot about cars, but other than Alfred’s passion for the subject almost nothing more about his new house mate. However, he wanted to know more about Alfred and that alone was rather surprising. He was by no stretch of the imagination a people person, but with Alfred it was different. More than different though it was almost frightening. He hadn’t made a human connection since he was about 20. He had been almost entirely alone for the last five years of his life before he died. Now here he was making . . . well he wasn’t sure he would classify Alfred as a friend, at least not yet but he wanted to be friends with Alfred. How did you start though? He didn’t even know if they had anything in common other than a love of vintage cars. Where do you go from there?

It was some time before Arthur decided on his approach. It seemed so simple. He was surprised it hadn’t happened on it’s own as a matter of fact. Maybe it was too simple. Maybe it hadn’t happened because they really didn’t have anything in common. He was nervous what if Alfred didn’t want to be Arthur’s friend? That was why he had never bothered trying very hard when he was alive after all right? Well maybe not, but the fear of rejection was still a real one for Arthur. He supposed he could have made idle conversation with the American across the kitchen table, but that seemed very formal and had never really gone very well. There was also the entire issue that Arthur didn’t actually eat anything. He could process things like tea or juice, but it was just for appearances sake really. He decided instead however to take the next step on familiar ground. That is how Arthur found himself idly sitting on the weathered wood work bench reading a well loved copy of Othello. 

Generally, Arthur was not present in the garage until Alfred was already there. This had occurred to the Brit and he had considered just waiting in the house or on the porch like he usually did, but he had found himself impatient for Alfred’s return now that he had a plan of attack. He couldn’t say he wasn’t wary of what the American would say concerning his lack of a reason to be in the garage in the middle of the day, with a book no less. He need not have worried though. Among other things it seemed that Alfred was rather obtuse of things that were out of the ordinary. He just gave a small wave with that ridiculously wide grin and his now familiar greeting of ‘Hey Artie.’ Arthur had given up on trying to get Alfred to call him Arthur about a week into their cohabitation. It was a futile effort anyway since the boy seemed just as happy to just prattle on if Arthur answered him or not. That wasn’t important at the moment though. He actually had come to kind of like the nickname. He had always been Arthur before it was sort of nice that there was a special name that only Alfred used for him. He could only take this as support to his friendship idea. 

He couldn’t stop his hands from fidgeting. He flipped through the pages he was fingering. It had been at least fifteen minutes since he actually read anything in the book, but he couldn’t seem to look at Alfred. Why was he so nervous? He had thought all of this through right? Despite the boy’s complete ignorance to the fact that Arthur’s presence in the garage was odd he did notice the fidgeting. “Is something wrong Artie?” Oh no nothing I’m just fucking terrified that you don’t want to be my friend and don’t know how to approach the subject that’s all. He of course said none of this he just fidgeted more with the fraying pages of Othello. He took a deep breath he didn’t need before glancing at the blue eyes through his light blonde lashes. It made him look very young indeed. It was at times like this when he looked so vulnerable and cute that Alfred just wanted to hug him. 

Arthur could see the urge and Alfred’s resolve to not hug him quickly dissolving. He quickly jumped off the work bench to dodge the grab and held up his hand to fend off another hug attempt from the American. The sudden need to stop Alfred’s attempts made all of his well crafted plans to vanish. “Are we friends?!” It fell out of his mouth as a half shout half desperate plea. If he were still alive his green eyes would have shown with tears brought on by worry. 

Alfred was taken aback. He actually took a physical step back. He looked at Arthur as if he had grown a second head. It wasn’t that he had to even think about the answer to the Brit’s question. Of course they were friends. What had given Alfred pause was the fact that Arthur even had to ask. Sure he was a little awkward and they didn’t talk much. He had some odd habits and read WAY more than any normal person he had ever met, but none of that explained why the Brit wouldn’t think they were friends. Finally, Alfred let out a laugh and with that ever present grin just said brightly. “Of course we’re friends Artie, beside I don’t know anyone else in England.” He reached out a large hand to ruffle the shorter man’s hair. 

Arthur ducked out from under the reaching hand. “. . . Right.” It was a stupid reply, but he didn’t know what else he could say. He had had the perfect plan slowly start talking to Alfred about cars and then move slow but steady towards vaguer and intimate topics just getting to know the boy, but know that stupid idiot had to go and get him flustered. On the other hand, he had just skipped over about three weeks of chatter. Of course time Arthur had all the time in the world for all he knew. “I um . . . dishes . . .” It was possibly the least eloquent thing Arthur had ever said, but it gave him an excuse to run back to the house. 

Alfred laughed watching Arthur go back to the house. “He is TOO cute when he gets flustered.” Alfred muttered as he bent over the car he was currently restoring. Maybe now they could actually make some kind of progress. It was killing Alfred to be taking things so slow with Arthur. He just seemed so jumpy every time Alfred tried anything. Alfred was ok with going slow though he just wanted to learn more about Arthur. He seemed so solitary and sad sometimes that it made Alfred ache a little. He needed to learn how to live after all what use was life if you passed through it like a ghost? Still he could see that Arthur had to do things in his own time; he just hoped it wouldn’t take too much longer for Arthur to open up and trust him or they would never get anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it has been so long this has been waiting on my computer for a while and then I just sort of got side tracked, but I hope you all like it anyway. Reviews are always appreciated.  
> Winter_Storm

**Author's Note:**

> I have a clear idea of where this is going, but I would appreciate any ideas of what you might like to see included in this fan fiction. I hope you enjoy this little Halloween inspired plot bunny of mine.  
> On a side note I don't have a beta-reader for anything I write, but I would really appreciate if anyone is interested in doing that for me. 
> 
> Winter_Storm


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